To tell a tale: Year one
by The Shadows Will
Summary: A darker story of one boy finding his own path in life and doing anything and everything he must to reach his destination, freedom. The presence of a reluctant and distant Harry will shake the wizarding community. Year one. Improvement on my One-shot Paradise Lost.


_Dear Diary,_

_I have no one and nothing that I can call mine. Until now I have been living with no purpose. I wake up and go through the day because I have been told I must. I have done only what I have had to do in order to survive. And until now that has worked. But starting today that changes, today I start living._

_I write this diary so that I can prove to myself that I am alive and that I have a purpose in life._

_I am Harry Potter and this is who I am._

_25, June, 1992_

oO0Oo

For all of his life he had been forced to 'live' the life that others had demanded he lead. His life revolved around repetition and avoidance. Every day he would repeat the actions of the previous day.

The distant sound of an alarm clock would drift through the walls and floors of the house, and the slight sound would be enough to rouse him from slumber. His uncle as usual would silence the alarm and have it set to go off in another ten minutes, and in ten minutes it would go off again but with the man getting up and ready for his day. So the small boy roused by the chirp of the alarm would creep out from his tiny room, the spare cupboard under the stairs, and make his way to the down stairs bathroom. He would relieve himself and wash his hands, creating as little noisy or disturbance as possible.

It was his job to have breakfast ready for the household. Upon entering the kitchen he would find the list detailing what he was to make today, it was never left to him to decide, and it wasn't his place to question that. Today would be bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, tea and Orange juice. Seven pieces of bacon each too both his uncle and cousin, three to his Aunt, and one for himself. Three eggs over easy for his uncle, three eggs scrambled for his cousin, one sunny side up for his aunt, and one over hard for himself. Nine pieces of toast distributed equally to each of his relatives and a single untoasted slice of bread for himself. A cup of coffee with a dash of milk, just enough to take the edge off, for his uncle. A small glass of O.J. for his aunt alongside a cup of Earl Grey. While his cousin got a tall glass of whole milk. He himself would have a glass of water.

It was ten minutes in to his preparation of the food when his aunt would enter the kitchen and make sure he wasn't ruining breakfast for them. Even though he hadn't so much as burned a piece of toast in two years she saw to it that breakfast was perfect as always.

His aunt was out of place in the Dursley family. Where both her husband and son were of more rounded build she was almost painfully thin, she almost appeared as if she was stretched. Her most prominent feature being her long neck which she used to sweep side to side observing everything. As always she was wearing a sensible blouse, long skirt, black flats, and her favorite pearl necklace. And as always her hair was just 'so'.

With the bacon done and only the eggs left to cook uncle Vernon would come thundering in to the dining room morning paper in his hand and take a seat in his spot at the table. There was no anger or haste in his actions, just the protesting of the floor boards as his great weight shifted across them. Vernon wasn't a very tall man, if asked he would say he was a respectable 170 cm(5'7). His most distinguishing feature would be his large impeccably groomed mustache, which was the same shade of graying brown as his hair. Under his standard business suit his pronounced belly could be seen.

As the last of the food and silverware was placed on the table the house would shake as Dudley would rattle the house as he ran from his room to the downstairs and the kitchen. He was for all intents and purposes a miniature Vernon, minus thirty years or so. The large belly already coming in.

Breakfast like all meals at the Dursley residence was a quiet affair. He was only allowed to speak if spoken too, and that was very rarely.

They would all sit down and eat the meal that was generously provided by Vernon's hard work at Grunnings, a drill manufacturing company. After Vernon and Dursley would decimate the meal before them they would each go their own way. Vernon to work via the roadways and Dursley to his morning shower in preparation for school.

It would be Harry's job to clean the all the dishes that had been sullied and by the time the last pan was scrubbed dried and put away Dudley would have finished his shower. Having forty-five minutes before the start of school Harry would have to rush in order to take his shower and walk to the mornings first class.

oO0Oo

Another in a series of blows left him doubled over choking in air and trying to hold onto the meager contents in his stomach. Two pairs of arms hauled him upright so they could continue their twisted game. This time the blow was aimed at his kidneys a favorite spot of this particular group. A strike to the back of his head left the already blurry world just a smear of color. A previously boxed ear had left a low ringing in his head. Or was that the school bell? They sounded so similar.

"Play times over. See you later cousin." Said the distinctly largest smudge as it waddled away. Cousin Dudley.

"Yeah I've been late to much lately don't want the teacher writing home." Said the smallest blur. Peirs.

The arms, the only things keeping him upright, were ripped away surrendering him to the mercies of gravity and asphalt. The sounds of footsteps had faded off they must be leaving. Was he losing consciousness? No of course not, he wasn't that lucky. Or was it that they actually knew what they were doing and purposefully left him on this side of consciousness. It was ten minutes later that he had regained his balance enough and stood shakily on his thin legs. His dark hair was plastered to his skull with a mixture of sweat and dirt, with his bangs just covering his eyes. Through the haze and blur of his poor eyesight he was able to locate his glasses. His thick black framed glasses that were a 'present' from Auntie Petunia, had been snapped once again in half. One of the lenses was cracked right down the middle whereas the other looked as if it had been dragged across the ground. He would have to get another pair, 'they' would not be happy about that.

If only the laces on his oversized shoes hadn't snapped and sent him tumbling he would have out run them. 'Harry Hunting' usually ended in a draw, with Harry escaping to the presence of a teacher or faculty member. None of them were dumb enough to attach him with an adult around. But the laces had snapped and he had been a punching bag. Just another day in the life of Harrison James Potter, deranged freak of Surrey.

oO0Oo

"Potter you're late again." Said the rather stern looking women. She embodied everything that would be considered a cliché old school teacher. Horn rimmed glasses, hair pulled back skull splittingly tight and fashioned into a bun. Faux pearl necklace, over a tan sweater tied over her shoulders. A white blouse with a shin length tan colored skirt. Ending with a set of neutral colored heels.

"Yes Mrs. Weatherby, sorry Mrs. Weatherby." Harry said robotically as he took his seat in the back corner of the room. Honestly the fact that she even took notice anymore was a bit of a miracle. Maybe she just really had a thing for tardiness.

"Good now that everyone is here" She sent him a rather annoyed look. "We can begin. Now turn to page eighty in your geography books, today we learn about Brazil."

oO0Oo

The sound of the three bells signaled it was lunchtime. Time for the game, of 'Harry Hunting' to begin anew. Even before the final bell had wrung Harry was already out the door and into the hallway. From there he would bolt towards the double doors at the end of the corridor that led to the outside. Students from other classes would start to pour out of the other rooms as he passes them by. While the shortest route to his destination was the opposite direction, just through the doors at the other end of the hallway facing the courtyard, half of the goon squad had a class located right by the door. If caught, they using a little coercion and a lot of strength would steer him to the dumpster behind the school. There they would loyally wait for the fat blob of a leader to arrive and officially commence 'Harry Hunting'. Well technically since he had already been caught it wasn't Harry Hunting, had tenderizing would be more accurate.

Bursting out the 'safe' doors he took a sharp left and follows the contour of the wall around to the court yard. From there it's simply a matter of blending in with the crowds of students to make his way to the library. His last, and quite frankly only place of refuge. His vault of knowledge where the annals of history, the lands of fantasy, and the gateway to other lives were stored. Dursley and his clique would never enter solely out of premise of the place, the idea of willingly surrounding yourself with books didn't seem to agree with any of them. That and the hawk eyed librarian who was more than willing to use a meter stick to discipline unruly children. Normally it would work and the idiots would go find some underclassman to terrorize, but today Piers the most clever of the bunch had one of his few and original thoughts, wait outside the library.

"Crap." Harry vocalizes as he spots the rat faced boy with his cruel smile. Slowly trying to merge back in with the hoards of hungry students Harry felt the iron grip clamp down on his shoulder. Well iron might be stretching it, marshmallows or sausage would be more accurate, it is Dudley after all.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks. Dudley Dursley the fat prince of Private Drive, he who can do no wrong. A whale in the making, already three Stone heavier than anyone in their year he was not a pretty sight. Light brown hair topping a pudgy and red face, he filled out his clothes in all the wrong places. But if his girth wasn't his most noticeable trait it was his height, he was by far the tallest boy in their year. "You wouldn't want to miss out on the fun would you?" He had started dragging Harry through the crowd and to the back of the school.

Thoughts of imminent pain coursed through young Harry's mind. 'Strike back'. Said the little voice in his head as he struggled to free himself from his cousin's oddly strong grip. 'Fight!' That little voiced screamed again. That voice that thing that railed and raged against the monotony and the unfairness of his life. The voice that urged that demanded he be more than everyone else. It demanded he fought back. And oh how wanted to but it wouldn't accomplish anything. Every time he had ever tried it had amounted to nothing. Teachers ignoring him, adults forgetting him, and children shunning him. He was different than them, in some small way he was the odd man out, and everyone knew it.

He wanted to fight, he wanted to protect himself but nothing would change. That and the only person he didn't want to anger was Dudley's father Vernon. He had never been excessively violent, a swat here a shove there nothing too bad. But a true anger lie deep within that man an anger that had only been roused once before and that one time had left a very large impact on a young Harry.

Still for a single moment he entertained the idea of beating back his cousin and giving him a taste of his own medicine. To avenge every punch every shove that had unfairly been sent his way, and one moment was all that was needed.

He was being pulled by his cousin then in the blink of an eye he was standing over the wailing form of a hurt child. The fat boy was holding his face as crimson poured from between his fingers.

Looking down Harry noticed that his hand, no his fist was also covered in the crimson liquid. He stared at it. What was it? Why did it look so familiar? It couldn't be blood no, he wasn't that dumb. It had to be something else, but why did it remind him of blood. Looking up he saw that there was a ring of people surrounding him, some looked sick others excited. Apparently they weren't as confused as him, as all were screaming _bloody murder_. Encouragement, anger, fear and many more sounds were ringing in his ear but he heard none of it. His mind had gone to a place of utter quiet and seclusion. A place where only that little voice remained.

"**Vengeance!**" It roared in the depths of his mind.

oO0Oo

Resignation. He had resigned himself to what would happen next, and so far he had been fairly accurate. One of the girls had gone and got a teacher, bloody traitor, no that was wrong it was the right thing to do. There was an injured kid, an adult needed to be informed. And yet they all knew Dudley was a bully, but at the drop of a hat they would help him over the "freak".

Some unfamiliar teacher had come and rushed Dudley off to the school nurse. Harry was dumped outside the principal's office while Principal Warner was informed of the situation. Warner was the one, the one that made the call to dear Aunt Petunia and loving Uncle Vernon.

He guessed that once both of the 'victims' parents arrived a meeting would take place. There would be shouting, pointing, threats Vernon would turn a color usually not attainable by humans, Harry would laugh on the inside but cringe on the outside. He would be angry with the school for letting his son be injured, he would threaten to sue, it would naturally be all bluster. The possible gains would not be enough to outweigh the possibility of his dirty laundry being shown to the public.

Harry having attacked another student, regardless of being related, would be either suspended or expelled along with some rather unkind things recorded in his file, like it mattered. Petunia would then take Dudley to the hospital for the more than likely broken nose. Maybe it would improve his face, it couldn't get much worse. Harry accompanied by a furious Vernon would be 'escorted' home and that's where things went down a dark path.

What actually happed was something he was definitely not what he foresaw. Well he got suspended, Petunia rushed Dudley to the hospital, there was definitely some notation done in Harry's school file but oddly enough Vernon was not angry. Well not in the classical blow up and shout sense. Harry was a bit put out by that, one of his few joys in life was the color Vernon turned when livid. It was like the first bloom of lavender in the spring.

He wore a rather neutral face, to anyone not intimately familiar with the inner workings of Vernon Dursley he looked rather calm. But deep down there brewed a storm like no other. There was no yelling just some "Boys will be boys" and "He doesn't know his own strength" and "I remember when I was a boy" and you can't forget the ever out of place "I understand, don't worry he will be punished accordingly. But I think I should withdraw him for a couple weeks or so he can come to grips with what he's done."

Harry wanted to say something to defend his actions. To bring to light the years of neglect and abuse, but every time he opened his mouth to speak all that came out was silence. The whole ordeal left Harry in a haze and unable to really understand anything that was being said.

As the meeting drew to a close there was some pleasant hand shaking accompanied by smiles and some ushering into the car, even some unrecognizable tune playing across Vernon's lips. It was clear the man had been driven so far off into the depths of anger that he had snapped. Harry briefly wondered if they would ever find his body.

As they pulled into the driveway of Number Four, Private Drive Vernon was still humming that annoying tune, just a few lines over and over. As he exited the car and made his way to the door it even appeared that there was a spring in his step, not a good sign. Unlocking the front door the overly large Mr. Dursley held it open for Harry as though he were a celebrity.

Setting his book bag on the floor Harry slowly closed by the door and waited for the inevitable.

"You are to never harm one of my blood, boy." The man said calmly before He roughly grabbed Harry and flung him into his cupboard. The boys head bounced spectacularly off the underside of the stairs. All that awaited him was darkness.

oO0Oo

Twisting his head to the side he looked up at the light filtering through the grate on the cupboard door. "Wonder what day it is?" He said to no one.

Unable to really do anything he went over his punishment. After he had been tossed into the cupboard he had lost consciousness. He woke up the next day to Vernon and Petunia arguing.

"You know what those freaks would do if we threw him out!" She yelled.

"I don't bloody well care! He needs to GO! We are not responsible for him." He responded.

"Eight years ago when you allowed him to stay here we became responsible." She countered.

"FINE, have it your way he can stay. But I'm pulling him from school, I will not allow him to harm this families reputation with his freakiness."

"But you can't ju" She started but was interrupted.

"There's a bloke at the company, he has his children home schooled, we can just do that. I'll talk to him tomorrow and see what needs to be done."

That was all he overheard before he once again blacked out.

oO0Oo

The next time he came too he heard of his punishment. He was only to be allowed out of his room when doing chores, which had tripled, or for bathroom breaks. He was to be homeschooled which ultimately would probably be for the best. It would significantly cut down on the time that the goon squad would have access to him.

The homeschooling program that his relatives had entered him into required a series of tests to be submitted every year, so the system would know that he was on track for his age group. The "class" consisted of a pile of old textbooks that his aunt had procured from a used book shop. There was to be no homework and no tests; no one was willing to grade them. He was to study the books on his own time and he was to pass every test.

As for the increase in chores, well they had been starting to pile up and someone had to do them, right?

oO0Oo

Harry stared at the foggy mirror and the indefinite figure cast in its reflection. The vapors from his shower having covered the surfaces of the room in condensation. With his hand he wiped away the clinging water revealing his reflection.

He was a small and pathetic child, he truly was. He had always been a small kid but as the years past he noticed the children his age outgrow him by leaps and bounds to the point that he looked two or three years their junior. Most people would say that the reason for his size was from the lack of good solid meals he got through most of his life, not that he was ever truly starved. But he had never had his fill of any meal; at least not that he could remember. But he believed he was tiny because he made himself so. A tiny presence to go unnoticed in the world.

His general appearance was kind of depressing. He had a full head of wild black hair which could under no circumstances be controlled. Its black mass would make his face look smaller by comparison, which would in turn make him look younger. His face was thin and pale despite the amount of work he did outside in the sun. He would think of his face as that of a cadaver; the type of face that belonged on someone at the "end". But behind his messy hair behind his pale skin he stared at his one redeeming quality, his eyes. Eyes of the brightest green that he had as of yet never found on anyone else.

His shoulders were thin and his skin taught; clearly showing his musculature he had obtained through hours working. His chest was but ghostly pale skin stretched tight over a small frame.

Really he was in every way the exact opposite of his relatives. Dudley the light brown haired whale of a child who despite being grossly out of shape towered over him. Petunia while thinner than her son was not small like Harry but held more of a stretched quality to her. Demonstrated by her almost giraffe like neck, and long horse like face. And Vernon the great big walrus that he was stood a smidge under average height but more than made up for it with his girth.

But what really set them apart was their normalcy. Well their perceived normalcy. They tried to be as average as possible blending into the background of British culture. Every third Wednesday of the month Mr. Dursley played a round of golf with the neighbors then went out for a drink at a nearby pub. Mrs. Dursley attended garden parties with the other wives of Private Drive, the main attraction was of course the local gossip. And sweet Dudley had sleepovers and camp outs with his friends.

But Harry stood out like a sore thumb. No hobbies; he wasn't allowed any. No interests; they just made another target for Dudley to amuse himself with. No friends, even if someone was willing he simply didn't have the time.

And then there were the incidents. Every once in a while things would happen, things that were definitely anything but normal. He would sometimes _move. _Not any kind of linear movement traveling from point A to point B. He would be one place one second and be somewhere else the next, and always he felt as if he was being squeezed through a hose or pipe. It usually happened when chased by Dudley and his gang, though the frequency of it happening had increased since he had socked Dudley. Harry Hunting was now almost always a failure. He gave up trying to control it early on it was just another reason for his relatives to dislike him; it's not like he could use it to run away. There was no place for him to go, living on the streets or living under a roof, it was a no brainer.

Delicate objects had a way of breaking around him. The "one of a kind" antique vase that Mrs. Dursley had found at an estate sale had mysteriously imploded when he had had stubbed his toe on the table it had rested upon. The ensuing punishment had him cleaning the driveway with his toothbrush.

Then there were the random people who would call out to him on the street or rush him only to shake his hand, thank him, then scurry off and disappear. They were always dressed in the most unusual attire, capes robes and bright colors.

Then there was his miraculous healing rate. Well healing might not be the right word, repairing would fit better. That time when Dudley had slammed the car door on his arm, and then stepped on his hand while Harry was reeling on the ground had almost completely mended itself within the hour. The only real permanent side effects had been a little loss of mobility and strength in his left arm and having to switch which hand he had to write with if only to keep his righting legible.

He contemplated the oddity that was his life as he stewed in the left over steam from his shower.

"BOY!" Boomed the voice of Vernon. "Stop wasting all the hot water and make us dinner before its bloody tomorrow!"

Harry grimaced at the voice of his uncle and quickly got dressed as he didn't wish to anger that man any more than necessary. Tonight they were having fried chicken mashed potatoes and gravy, a crowd favorite. It was to celebrate Dudley's passing of another year of school and what a miracle it was. Dudley having forced Harry to do the large boys homework for most of his academic career was barely allowed to pass…again. Though having the ability to forge Dudley's signature might have some practical use.

oO0Oo

"You are to make fried chicken and mashed potatoes for tonight, make sure there is enough of both we don't want a repeat of what happened last week do we?" Aunt Petunia commanded as she directed Harry about the kitchen.

"Yes Aunt Petunia." Harry replied. The last time he had made fried chicken and potatoes both Dudley and Vernon had been hungrier than usual, so the standard amount had not been enough to fill their bottomless pits they called stomachs. It would not do to have them be anything less than absolutely filled.

"Good now get to it, I want dinner served by eight sharp." She commanded as she flounced out of the room leaving Harry to his work.

oO0Oo

"Thanks. Mum, the. Dinners amazing." Dudley said happily in between bites as he shoveled in spoon full after spoon full of mashed potatoes.

"Anything for my special man." Petunia cooed to her little boy. Once again acting as if she was the one who made the meal.

"Do I have something to be worried about here?" Vernon joked.

"Oh honey, how could you say that I only have eyes for you." She said before a gentle chuckle swept through each of them.

It was the perfect meal. They were in good loving company. The head of the household had received hints that he might be in line for a promotion to region director of Grunnings int. Petunia had won a prize for the most beautiful roses on Private Drive, bestowed upon her by the other ladies on the street. And Dudley had just last week turned eleven, and within the month would be sent off to Smeltings Academy, Vernon's alma mater. Life couldn't be better.

"Can I have some more?" Dudley said as he looked at his emptied plate.

"Your third plate already! My sons a growing lad, he needs his nutrition." Vernon said happily before his grin dropped. "Boy more food!" The man bellowed.

From the behind the nearby wall movement could be heard. A small form entered the doorway. The small black haired child carried two platters laden with a pile of fried chicken and a mountain of potatoes.

Quickly he scurried over to now empty plate of Dudley and began spooning out chicken and spuds.

"You forgot the gravy!" Dudley bellowed, he was really starting to take after his father.

"I'll get it right away." Harry said as he finished reloading the portly boy's plate. Quickly he dashed back through the door, to the kitchen. The sound of metal touching could be heard as Harry started to presumably ladle gravy into a sauce boat.

He came scurrying back out carrying the ceramic dish. He applied generous amounts of liquid to the pile of spuds but didn't stop till Dudley bid him to. By the time the diner was happy there was more gravy than potato.

Vernon looked pleased; it did the 'boy' well to know his place. "Good now go fetch us the" He was interrupted as a sharp clicking sound came from the backdoor right behind them. Turning around they saw that the clear glass door was empty. Again the clicking sound but this time the sound came from down near the floor. Looking down they saw the form of a small brown owl. The two younger faces looked on in confusion while the two older showed only anger.

While odd, an owl knocking at your backdoor didn't usually inspire such anger. Then harry saw it. A red envelope tied around the poor birds leg.

"Again?" Harry said exasperated.

The clatter of a knife could be heard from Vernon's direction. Everyone else turning to the noise saw the mustached man starting to turn purple and his knuckled going white. "Again?" he asked quietly, the type of quietly that was not good for the health of people named Harry Potter.

Harry seeing his uncle turn a very dangerous shade of purple started backing up trying to distance himself from the explosive man. "C-couple w-weeks ago owl c-came by, gave me a letter d-didn't read it just wrote saying I wasn't interested. S-sent it back." Harry stuttered out in fear.

The tightness of his fists and his color started to return to normal. "Good, now go to your room while I deal with this." Vernon ordered.

"Yes sir." Harry said as he fled to his room, his cupboard under the stairs, the very spot the letter was addressed to.

oO0Oo

Harry sat with his back against the wall in his room under the stairs.

He had indeed received a letter previously and had in fact sent a note back saying he didn't want any part of what they were offering. But as opposed to what he told Vernon he did open the letter. It's not like him getting mail was a common occurrence. And what he found inside terrified him.

Normalcy was the Dursley's armor, their bread and butter, their water of life. It allowed them to function in polite society. Anything different was deemed hostile to their way of life and treated accordingly.

Painting was deemed abnormal. **Normal** people do not paint, only hippies and those weird artsy people paint. Petunia when younger had had a touch of artistic ability and it had been one of her favorite hobbies growing up in Spinners End. But art didn't fit in Vernon's definition of **normal** so she was forced to give it up early in the relationship.

Speaking anything but the Queen's English was not **normal**. As such Vernon had made it abundantly clear to the teachers at Dudley's old school that he was not to be taught any of that foreign 'gibberish'.

_Magic_. The concept of altering the world in ways not **normally** possible was definitely not **normal**. Anyone caught watching anything magic on the telly was due for a very stern scolding. If Harry was caught watching TV, well watching TV at all would get him yelled at with a fifty percent chance of a slap up side of his head. Watching anything that had a magic component to it would result in a week on half meals.

So the idea that Harry was not just different but a being that could use magic was a very distressing thought. But going away to a school where he would be taught how to do magic, where he would be immersed in it, to live in a place not **normal** scared the utter shit out of him. While him being magic explained some of the oddities he discovered when comparing himself to others, the idea of being something that Vernon hates was having him spiral into a panicked frenzy.

oO0Oo

_Harry will not be attending your school this fall or anytime within the foreseeable future. We have decided to enroll him at a local institution so he can stay close to his family._

_Please do not send any more letters._

_Vernon Dursley_

Vernon's note neatly spelled out before he sealed it in an envelope and threw it at the feet of the bird.

The small bird turned its eyes upwards to the whale of a man and locked gazes with him. It was if the bird was judging him. It then let off a small hoot before shifting its attention back to the letter. It grasped it with its talons then spread its wings and took off into the night.

oO0Oo

A week had passed since the now named 'letter' incident. It had been a week that Vernon had been stuck flipping between moods. Angry that something so abnormal had happened within walking distance of his house, let alone tapping at his back door. And oddly happy that Harry had willing rejected the invitation to that freak show.

No more letters had arrived via the post or… other means. Dudley had received his sets of Smeltings styled uniform. A maroon tailcoat, over a maroon long sleeved shirt, a set of dull orange knickerbockers and topped with a straw hat. He had even given the boy his own Smeltings stick, one of his most prized possessions from his childhood. It made Vernon so proud to see his son dressed in his old colors, like father like son.

And the 'boy' had been really quiet for the last week almost if he was waiting for an 'adjustment' and didn't want to do anything to hasten its arrival. Almost everything had returned to normal. Now if only those fools from Kent would decide if they wanted their drills delivered on the seventh or eighth of next month.

Looking at the clock resting on the fireplace Vernon saw it was almost time for the match to begin, he couldn't quite remember who was playing today he wasn't actually a fan of any team, but it didn't matter since it was normal for the man of the house to watch football on his day off.

He had just sat down in the chair assigned to the _man of the house_ and had his hand halfway to the remote before a knock came from the front door. Who could that be? Dudikins was out with his friends. Petunia was out with the ladies at one of their garden parties, so it wouldn't be any of the women from the street. The boy had no friends so it was unlikely that it was anyone for him. It was Sunday so there was no post. That left one option, salesmen.

Among the hoards of roaming salesmen that dwelled throughout England there persisted a list of addresses that were not to be disturbed. Most were just for violent citizens who were just as likely to buy something as to take a swing at you. But among the list sat Number 4 Private Drive, not because any of the occupants were outwardly violent, no that would be abnormal, but because salesmen tended to come intending to dispense high quality items but walked away the proud owner of industrial sized drills. Never try to sell to a salesman.

"I wonder how many they will be walking away with today?" Mr. Dursley wondered to himself. The first time he had sold a drill to a rather green salesman was because he was annoyed at being interrupted during dinner. The second time had been to boost his sales records for the month but the third time had been for fun, he had made a little game out of it and so far he was 4 and 0.

Straightening out his green sweater vest and putting on his best smile Vernon answered the door. All reason and cognitive thought stopped as light poured through the doorway. It was only due to the armor of normalcy that he wore throughout his whole life that allowed his body to function by itself. Thoughtlessly he closed the door.

oO0Oo

Outside the man was a little put out. It was after all rather rude to close the door is some ones face without at least exchanging pleasantries. Could it have been his attire? Maybe he should have worn the burgundy suit instead of the mauve. Still he would not be denied, he had an important message to deliver. Focusing his twinkling blue eyes on the door he went to knock again. Only to stop a hairs breadth from the painted wood. Looking to the side he saw a small plastic button sticking out of a metal plate. Oh a door bell, one of their more peculiar if not interesting inventions. It would probably be better to use the bell. So he did.

oO0Oo

Was that man wearing a purple suit? No. No. Just a trick of the light. Maybe he was tired, yes that was it a nice lay me down would be just the thing. Giving his head a shake he turned around and started up the stairs. He was however stopped dead in his tracks by the familiar chiming of his doorbell.

He stared at the painted wood of the door hoping if he ignored it the problem would disappear. He wasn't about to let some weirdo into his home. The neighbors, he couldn't afford for them to see such a strange man outside his door. Quickly he rushed to the door and flung it open. Outside the man was in the process of pulling a thin wooden object from within his light purple jacket.

"Ah good day mister Dursley I have a rather pressing issue I must discuss with you. Might I come in?" The bearded man asked.

Vernon just stepped aside and let the man in. It was one of those freaks, they were defiling his house his normalcy with their… their freakiness. The guest walked from the entry way and into the living room, where he stood expectantly.

Vernon slowly closed the door with an almost inaudible click. What was this freak doing here he had sent that letter telling them he wanted nothing to do with their world. How dare they come here! "What do you want?" He asked rather heatedly. His anger starting to bubble to the surface.

"I'm afraid it concerns your nephew Harry. May we sit down?" He said as if the hint of anger in Vernon's voice was nonexistent.

"No." He replied quickly.

"Ah yes then, I'll just get right to it. My name is Albus Brian Wulfric Dumbledore and I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have in fact received your letter pertaining to Harry's nonattendance; you have to understand that it is imperative that he attend school to master his inborn abilities and learn of his heritage."

"No! Like I said in the letter he will not have anything to do with your strange ways! He is to be raised as a good and normal citizen of England! He will have nothing to do with you or your kind." Vernon was now completely red faced with anger.

"His parents would have wanted-" Albus started only to be cut off.

"His parents gave up all right to him when they went and got themselves killed, and then had the audacity to dump him on my doorstep. I will decide what he is to become, and it is not one of those stick waving degenerates."

This was not how he had envisioned this meeting to go. He was confident that it was just a misunderstanding and that through a simple explaining of the facts the matter would be resolved. One could not simply deny magic, it was the very core of who a wizard was, add on the importance of Harry Potter in Wizarding world. There simply was no other option than for the boy to go to Hogwarts. Maybe a slightly different approach. "Mister Dursley, I can appreciate your desire to separate yourself from the world that took your sister in law and her husband but-"

"But nothing" Vernon cut the old man off. "My decision is final. Now get out!" Vernon practically yelled as he pointed to the door.

The oddly dressed man let out a sigh that seemed to hold the entire weight of his very long life. "Then mister Dursley I'm sorry it has come to this." His eyes hardened and the almost magical twinkling disappeared. With a quick decisive movement belying his age his arm whipped around. He held it outstretched with a thin wooden stick held securely in his grasp. The point of the stick mere inches from the now raging Vernon's nose. A small spark of pure white light quickly gathered on its tip. He uttered one word and the world went white. "Obliviate."

oO0Oo

"Have a nice day mister Dursley." The old man said as he placed his purple bowler on his head and backed out the door. "I'll send somebody by in a few weeks to take Harry shopping for his school supplies." He placed his hand on the doorknob and quietly closed the door.

Vernon stood there stewing in his defeat as the old man left. How had that strange man convinced him to let the boy go? He had made his decision all those years ago when Petunia had told him about the existence of magic. He would do everything in his power to distance his family from those no good degenerates.

He was interrupted from his contemplation by the voice of a small child. "I finished painting the fence uncle." Harry Potter said flatly.

"Go to your room." The overweight man said almost too quietly.

Harry obliged quickly for fear of reprisal. As he was once more sequestered in the dark embrace of his room under the stairs he could hear the thundering footsteps of his uncle trudging along the hallway. The sound of the steps stopped and was replaced by the deadbolt on the outside of the door clicking into place. Through the small grill on the door he could the light that should be slowly sifting through being blocked by Vernon's body.

"You're going to school with those freaks." His uncle said before the sound of footsteps started to fade in the direction of the kitchen.

Harry despaired.

oO0Oo

* * *

A/N

I have never once met a person named Harry. So I will be changing his real name to Hadrian after the emperor.

Took a little liberty with the home schooling thing, was too lazy to research the required laws and regulations. It's not an important aspect of the story, I just wanted to distance him from everyone else.

So yeah here is the continuation of that one-shot that kinda sucked, I dialed down the hate, increased the passive negligence and acceptance. I honestly have no idea how far this will go. So far I have a basic timeline going for the first years but nothing really definitive. The idea is similar to the one-shot, used it as a template, and the story would follow along similar paths.

I wanted to put emphasis on Harry not having a voice, and being forced into his role as basically a house elf.

So yeah, if writing this doesn't become a chore I might publish consistently. Sly as a fox most likely not update until after the manga ends along with the insanity. The constant changes are throwing me and my plot off.


End file.
